The stories proliferate across the visions

Of trees across the street across the mind
what was in-mind at the start was it art 

Were you looking across the room at me
was I seeing you possibly no possibly

The panini machine burns the back
of the throat with its insistence

All this came to be as a hubris
as an imposter as a humanity over-arching

Its back losing its discs its spine 
tines of the remainder of the cosmos

Very large remainder dwarfing stars
swishing galaxies with its story of a tail